The Seduction Business
CHARLOTTE LAMB
Seducing the boss?Bianca Milne looks the part of the ambitious femal executive, with her sleek, touch-me-not looks and her cool, controlled manner. But there's another Bianca underneath she never lets the business world see. Until she's assigned to buy out Matt Hearne's company.Matt has hear rumors about Bianca–so how far will she go to clinch this deal? When he's called home to look after his little daughter, Bianca impulsively offers him her help, not anticipating that the enforced proximity will only ignite the smoldering physical attraction between them….
“Don’t judge everybody by your standards! We don’t all sleep around.”
Bianca flinched at the contempt in Matt’s voice, the coldness in his gaze.
“I just told you, I’m not—don’t…” she stammered.
“I know, you’re just one of Don Heston’s executives!”
“It’s true!”
“But Don thinks he owns you. Why should he think you were likely to be with me all night? Did he tell you to get me to sign this contract by seducing me?”
CHARLOTTE LAMB was born in London, England, in time for World War II, and spent most of the war moving from relative to relative to escape bombing. Educated at a convent, she married a journalist, and now has five children. The family lives on the Isle of Man. Charlotte Lamb has written over a hundred books for Harlequin Presents
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The Seduction Business
Charlotte Lamb
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER ONE
THERE were four men and two women gathered in the boardroom by ten o’clock that bright May morning. They took their seats around the wide mahogany table occupying the centre of the room, in order of seniority and custom. The sales director, Jack Rowe, in the centre, looked pointedly at his watch. ‘He’s late. You’d think he’d be early today, of all days, wouldn’t you?’
‘He’s been on the phone non-stop since eight o’clock,’ the publicity officer, Noelle Hyland, said sharply, resenting the other man’s tone. She leaned forward to stare at Jack with dislike, her spiky hair bright gold in the sunlight, making her look like a blonde hedgehog, especially as she was wearing a dark grey knitted wool suit which had a faintly fuzzy look to it.
‘He looks dead tired,’ said the female personnel director, Andrea Watson, sighing. Plump and cuddly in a pink angora sweater and white skirt, she also resented Jack Rowe’s carping over their managing director, to whom she was totally loyal.
Normally she smiled a lot, was full of fun, warm-hearted, enjoying life. Today, like her colleagues, she was serious, worried, a little pale.
Pausing in the doorway, Matt Hearne surveyed them before they noticed his arrival. Was one of them a Judas, ready to sell him and his company out?
Somebody inside the firm had to be involved, his lawyer, Leigh Hampton, had said to him ten minutes ago. ‘You must have a Trojan Horse there, Matt—find out who it is and get rid of them fast.’
Matt did not want to believe it.
His bright blue eyes skimmed their faces, wishing he could read them like a balance sheet. If only human beings were that easy. How many of them had secretly been offered jobs if this take-over went through?
Anger burnt deep inside his chest. He had worked hard to build this firm up; it had been his life for ten years. He had put everything he had and was into it.
Now someone was trying to take it away from him.
Well, they weren’t going to succeed, no matter what he had to do to stop them. He would never have thought of himself as a ruthless man, but he could become one, if he had to. He believed you could always do what you had to.
He walked forward and the others all looked up, immediately alert, trying to read his expression to find out how he felt.
Andrea gave him a trusting, hopeful smile. She thought he was brilliant. Utterly wonderful. Cleverer than any man she had ever met, and sexy with it. Even though she was happily married with ten-year-old twins, Matt could make her heart flutter. Her husband, Gary, had noticed her watching Matt at a dinner party last winter, her eyes glowing with admiration, and teased her.
‘You’re wasting your time, love. Computers turn him on, not women. What makes you females go dreamy over the guy, anyway? What’s he got that I haven’t got?’
‘Nothing, darling, not a thing,’ she had quickly said, because the last thing she wanted to do was hurt Gary’s feelings. But the truth was that although she loved her tall, burly husband, even in his old torn jeans and rugby shirt, gardening on a Sunday and covered in mud and grass-stains, Matt was gorgeous; more like a film star than a boss. Every other female in the office thought the same. She knew Noelle adored him. In fact, she had never yet met a woman who didn’t love his warm, blue eyes, that pale brown, floppy, silky hair, his lazy, charming smile, and laid-back, lounging way of walking.
At lunchtime, in the coffee shop next door to the company’s offices, where they all ate salads and jacket potatoes, the women who worked for him spent hours talking about how sexy Matt Hearne was and wishing he would look their way.
He never did.
There had been no woman in Matt’s life at all since his wife, Aileen, died three years ago, giving birth to a premature baby girl. Andrea had seen Matt the next day and been shocked by how old he suddenly looked. His marriage had been a very happy one. He and Aileen had known each other from their school days. Aileen’s death had hit him badly. She had tried to comfort him, but he had said brusquely, ‘You’re very kind, but I don’t want to talk about it, Andrea.’
White, drawn, haggard, he had walked away and hadn’t been seen in the offices for ten days. When he’d come back he was a different man. From then on he had buried himself in his work. He had lost a lot of weight, hardly spoke, became grim and taciturn.
Everyone had been worried about him, but a hardness in his eyes made them all afraid to say a word. Matt the charming, Matt the light-hearted had become surly and dangerous. They were scared of him for months.
Thank heavens, that harshness had slowly died away. Over the past couple of years, to their relief, he had gradually returned to his old self. He laughed again, smiled often, chatted to them all casually, was approachable again, but in the blue eyes somewhere the shadow of heartbreak remained when he did not think he was being watched.
Andrea had often seen him gazing out over the steel-grey River Thames, below his office, his face set in lines of sadness, and wished she could say or do something to lighten his mood, but was afraid to offer comfort in case he bit her head off again.
‘Good morning, everyone, thank you for being so punctual,’ he said now, taking his own chair at the head of the table, facing his executives. ‘I won’t waste your time with a long preamble. We all know why we’re here. Somebody has been buying up our shares. We’ve had a couple of near-misses in the past so we know the signs of a take-over bid. It’s obviously a serious attack. They’re spending a lot of money. I’ve asked Rod to find out everything he can. We’ll hear him first, then I’d like each of you to give me your own personal opinion on the offer, before we settle back to discuss tactics. Okay?’
‘Have they been in touch with you, Matt?’ asked Jack Rowe, his face tight with nerves.
Shaking his head, Matt said, ‘Not yet, but no doubt they soon will. I’m afraid these are big boys. Tell them who we’re up against this time, Rod.’
‘TTO,’ Rod Cadogan said.
Nobody looked surprised, Matt noted wryly. They had already heard that Tesmost Technical Operations were behind the bid, no doubt. You couldn’t keep such matters secret. Theirs was a small world. All the big international electronics firms knew each other. Several had tried to buy Hearne’s in the last two years, since it leaked out that they were working on a cheap voice-operated computer. In this business new technology was the name of the game. You had to keep launching new ideas or you died. Matt had kept his research a secret for as long as possible, not talking to anyone but his closest colleagues, but sooner or later he had had to start building the actual computer, which meant far more people getting involved in the project, and once that happened the word was out and the vultures gathered.
He had had the money to beat off all previous interest, but TTO were an enormous company with far more capital than Matt could put together. If Matt borrowed money to help him in this struggle, he would lose control of his company, anyway, to whoever lent the cash.
Bleakly, Matt wished he could work out how to defeat this bid without asking for help from anyone. But he knew he was between the devil and the deep blue sea. Maybe he should sell the house in the Essex countryside which he and Aileen had bought when they got married?
He lived in his London flat which was just the right size for a bachelor, very convenient for work, and surrounded by restaurants and shops. But his mother and his baby daughter lived in the Essex house, only an hour’s drive away so that he could visit them often. When Aileen died his mother had moved into their home to take care of Lisa and the arrangement had worked so well that it had become a routine.
Darkness veiled his eyes. Sometimes he could not believe she was gone, gone for ever. Aileen had been so full of life; he could see her now, laughing at him, the wind of the Essex coast in her hair, her eyes loving.
Salt coated his throat.
He mustn’t think of her. Stop it, he told himself. No looking back. Think about the future.
Well, if he had to sell the house he would sell his flat, too, and find somewhere big enough for his mother and the baby, too. Maybe it was time they all lived together? Having a split household like this wasn’t natural. He ought to see more of Lisa now that she was becoming a little girl, not just a baby.
‘You see, Matt, this is a well organised attack!’ he suddenly heard, and, starting, came back to the present, to look at Rod.
Matt nodded. ‘I’m afraid so.’
Rod sighed heavily. ‘I’ve got a list of share transfers that have already been shifted by the big investors, the pension funds and companies.’ In his flat London accent Rod began to read his list out like someone reading the names of mourners at a funeral.
He paused, looked up, said grimly, ‘And in charge of organising the bid, and co-ordinating the buying in of major company shares, Bianca Milne, Forward Planning Director of TTO.’ Rod placed a large colour photo on the desk and everyone stared down at it.
Jack Rowe gave a low wolf whistle. ‘Hey, I could go for her!’
Andrea felt a quiver of envy. If only she looked like that! She would swap her own brown hair for that sleek, smooth blonde chignon any time, and as for that face… Oh, it wasn’t fair. Some women had it all.
Matt had heard of Bianca Milne, but had never actually set eyes on her. He leaned forward and picked up the photograph, his mouth twisting.
‘Not my type at all, Jack, and I’d hazard a guess you wouldn’t get anywhere with her, either. She’s the don’t-touch-me type—look at those eyes. Cold as ice.’
Andrea’s smile spread. He was so good at reading character in a glance!
‘How old is she?’ somebody asked. ‘She looks too young to be heading a take-over bid.’
‘She’s not as young as she looks,’ said Rod. ‘She’ll be thirty in a month or so, it seems.’
‘I call that young,’ Jack said gloomily. ‘Wish I was thirty next month.’
‘Married?’ Andrea asked, hopefully.
Rod shook his head. ‘No. And currently without a man. Gossip has it that her last relationship was with Lord Mistell’s son, young Harry Mistell, who worked for one of the merchant banks her company supplied with the latest electronic hardware.’
Matt’s eyes lifted to consider Rod’s face. ‘Who broke off the affair, her or him?’
‘Her. They earned millions out of that deal, and Bianca Milne handled the sale. She stopped seeing young Mistell a few weeks later.’
Matt did not look surprised. He just nodded.
‘She was dating him just to make the sale?’ Noelle said, frowning. ‘That’s horrible.’
Rod shrugged. ‘Whether she was using him, or their break-up was a coincidence, who knows? But that’s how the gossip goes. She’s been with TTO for nine years, climbed rapidly up the company. The way she looks must have helped, but apparently she’s also clever, tough and very ambitious. She has a strong power base there. There is a rumour that she has a secret affair going with Don Heston, the chief executive of the company, but again I don’t know how true that is.’ Rod paused, added softly, ‘Heston is married.’
‘And has kids,’ said Matt and Rod nodded.
‘Two, a boy and a girl in their teens. Heston is nearly fifty, but looks younger. Nobody ever sees his wife. She stays in the country with the kids—they’ve got a big house in Buckinghamshire. Heston mostly jets around the world. Bianca Milne often goes with him.’
‘Hence the rumours, of course,’ Matt said briskly. ‘And who could blame him if he did mix business with pleasure with someone who looks like that? Okay, give us the background on TTO’s current market position, Rod. Concentrate, everyone. We need to find any chinks in their armour, any weaknesses. I’ll set up a meeting with Heston in the next few days to find out what sort of war this is going to be.’
His eyes fell on the photograph again. Bianca Milne had a cool, remote, Madonna-like face—but what sort of mind lay behind those big green eyes? A woman more ruled by her head than her heart, obviously.
Matt thought of his dead wife, who had been warm and funny and sweet, a woman ruled by her heart, never her head. God, he missed her. Day and night. Especially at night when his bed was cold and empty.
Pulling himself up, he pushed his memories away, staring at the photo of Bianca Milne. Rumours didn’t come from nowhere. Had she slept with Lord Mistell’s son just to get that contract? Was that the sort of woman she was? Rod had heard she was Heston’s mistress as well as his right-hand woman.
The girl with that purity of countenance and coldness of eye must have a few weaknesses, which could be useful to know. And maybe she was Heston’s weakness? It could be even more useful to know that.
Bianca was dictating to her secretary when Don rang. ‘Ready?’
He rarely wasted words or time. She wasn’t surprised by his curt tone.
Looking at her watch, Bianca was surprised, however, to realise it was already twelve o’clock. It had been a busy morning; she had lost track of time, deep in concentration, trying to get as much work as possible done before she left for this very important lunch appointment.
‘Yes, of course. I’ll see you downstairs in two minutes.’
Don rang off in his usual curt fashion and Bianca quickly finished dictating.
‘Get those into the computer, and printed, Patricia, and I’ll sign them before I go home tonight.’
Patricia stood up, her shorthand pad in one hand, checking the pages of notes, the number of letters to be done, her face gloomy at the thought of all that work. She was a small, dark girl who didn’t really enjoy her job. She had been engaged for six months and was counting the days to her wedding, after which, she’d frankly told Bianca, she meant to have a family as soon as possible and give up work for ever.
Bianca had drily said, ‘What an old-fashioned attitude. Two incomes are better than one, you know, especially during the first year or so of a marriage. Can you afford to give up work and live on one salary?’
But it seemed that Patricia’s future husband was a financial analyst who earned six times what Patricia could earn. Her income would not be important to them.
Smiling smugly, Patricia had told her, ‘We don’t have to worry about money; Tony earns more than enough for two and he wants to have kids as much as I do. He’s thirty-five, his biological clock is ticking loudly. So is mine. I love kids and I want to have a lovely house and garden. That has always been my ambition. I’ve never been married to my job, you know, the way you are.’
‘Yes, I’ve noticed you don’t enjoy your job,’ Bianca had said flatly. ‘Let’s hope you enjoy being a housewife. I think you’ll discover housework isn’t exactly fun, either. Well, give me plenty of notice so that I can find a replacement for you.’
Next time she meant to make sure she got a livewire secretary who put a bit more into her job, enjoyed what she did; not a lacklustre girl only interested in clothes, her own appearance and her private life.
Walking to the door now, Patricia asked over her shoulder, ‘What time do you think you’ll get back from lunch?’
‘No idea. It depends how the Hearne people react. We could have a short, nasty exchange and break up early. Or we could go on all afternoon. Just make sure those letters are ready for me to sign when I get back.’
Sniffing pointedly, Patricia went out and Bianca went over to the mirror on her wall to check on her appearance. Fortunately there were no hairs out of place in her blonde chignon, so she did not need to touch that, but her pale pink lipstick needed to be renewed, and there was a faint sheen of perspiration on her nose and temples, so she swiftly brushed loose powder over her foundation.
Appearance was half the battle with some men. She had researched Matt Hearne for some months, and knew he didn’t have a reputation as a lady-killer, but if he was like most men he would be staring at her while they talked and she wanted to make the right impression.
Her very feminine colouring, delicate-featured oval face and slender figure were in startling contrast to the businesslike navy blue pinstripe suit she was wearing.
She dressed that way whenever she had an important business meeting. In the beginning men had taken one look and begun talking indulgently, condescendingly, as though blonde hair and big green eyes must mean she was a ninny.
In her job, that male attitude was a nuisance. It wasted valuable time. It was boring having to fend off passes, and irritating that men did not take her seriously.
She had tried various ways of making men treat her with respect as a colleague or an opponent, and had found that wearing a man’s suit worked best.
It presented a conflicting visual impression which left men uncertain how to treat her, put them off their stride long enough for Bianca to have time to convince them she was no airhead and they should listen to her as attentively as they would listen to a man.
She collected her elaborately presented folder from the desk, glanced through it to make sure she had everything she would need, slid it into her black leather briefcase, before walking out to the lift on the landing outside her office.
TTO occupied most of this new, modern, luxury office block in the City of London. The offices in which Don Heston and his team of secretaries and assistants worked was on the thirtieth floor. Above that lay the roof garden, where they sometimes held summer barbecues for the staff, sunbathed, ate their sandwiches. On the same level was the elegant, expensively furnished apartment Don kept for himself or visiting VIPs from other countries in the world who did not want to stay in hotels.
He was waiting for her in his long black limousine on the forecourt of the building. A large, rugged man with curly brown hair sprinkled with silver, and hard, piercing brown eyes, he looked younger than he was because he worked out in the gym each day, played golf, swam, watched his diet and wore expensive, designer fashion in the latest styles.
Sliding into the back seat beside him, Bianca pretended not to notice as he ran his usual acquisitive stare over her.
‘You’re late.’
Her face was calm and unworried by the snapped accusation. ‘Sorry, Don. I was dictating when you rang.’
‘Done all your homework on this deal?’
‘Of course.’
He gave her a satisfied nod. ‘Good girl.’ Casually he shifted nearer till his knee touched hers, his eyes still roving over her from head to toe. ‘You know, that outfit should be a passion-killer—I usually hate to see women dressing as men—but you manage to look sexier than ever in it. Let’s hope Hearne thinks so; it would be very useful if he fell for you the way young Mistell did.’
She bit her inner lip. She did not want to remember Harry.
Don’s arm slid along the top of the seat behind her. Bianca felt his fingers trickle over her bare nape and stiffened.
‘Don’t,’ she muttered, not wishing his chauffeur to hear her, and moved forward to escape Don’s caress, relieved when his hand fell away from her skin and slipped back to his side, but his thigh was still close to hers as the car drove off.
He had been making passes at her ever since she started working for him, but so far she had always managed to keep him at bay. She knew he had had affairs with other women in the company and she had no intention of becoming one of that long list. But Don was a tenacious, determined man who never gave up and when he met a denial simply took a breath then came back again on the offensive. He never missed an opportunity to press an advantage, and never gave up.
It was irritating, but Bianca did not want to slap him down too hard. She respected Don’s brains, and liked him. But he was married, and as the child of divorced parents she hated the very idea of breaking up a marriage. She had rarely seen his wife and did not really know her at all. He was obviously no family man. He rarely seemed to be at his country home. Bianca was far too discreet to comment, but she remembered her own childhood well enough to know how his long absences must upset his children.
She enjoyed her job running the department which was actively engaged in seeking companies which the company could acquire with advantage. Bianca had to have a sound knowledge of the market values, the sometimes hidden assets of a company, the future potential which they would also often hide from acquisitive eyes.
Don gave her the sort of responsibility and power she had always dreamt of but never dared hope she would achieve. Women were rarely allowed to climb to the very top in business. This was still largely a man’s world. She knew she owed her chance to develop her financial skills to Don and was grateful to him.
Oh, no doubt he assumed she would pay the price he set on her job, but he hadn’t, so far, turned nasty when she refused to give in to his blatant desire for her.
‘Frigid little cat,’ he said now, but grinned as he said it, because he didn’t believe she was anything of the kind and still hoped to get her one of these days.
He had watched from the sidelines as she got involved with Harry; calculating that her relationship with Harry would help push through the deal with Lord Mistell, who adored his only son. The relationship had broken up when Harry heard gossip about her being Don’s mistress. Bianca had tried to make Harry believe it was all a lie, but he wouldn’t listen. White-faced and angry he had walked out of her life that night and she had not set eyes on him since.
‘You’re a married man, Don, and I’m not breaking up your marriage.’
‘I’ve told you—ours has always been a free and easy marriage. I go my way, she goes hers! Sara’s life is very busy; she has the children, her home, her dogs, the charity committees she works for—there wouldn’t even be room for me if I lived there full time.’
Bianca grimaced, wondering how true that was, but answering coolly, ‘The way you run your marriage is your business, but I am not the free and easy type. I don’t go in for adultery, it’s too messy.’
He laughed shortly. ‘You’re too old-fashioned to be true! But Matt Hearne is a widower, remember, and as free as the birds.’
‘This is a business lunch! You don’t expect me to use sex to get Matt Hearne to sign over his business, I hope!’
‘Use whatever works,’ said Don, sounding highly amused. ‘How many times have I told you that there’s no place for morals in business? The bottom line is money. Nothing else counts.’
‘Don’t be so cynical!’
‘I’m rational, not cynical. If we can get hold of Hearne’s new technology we’ll be coining money soon. It’s essential we get Hearne himself, though. He’s a genius. None of our researchers can touch him. We want him as well as his company.’
‘Then you talk him into signing!’
Don changed tack. ‘You know, the man must be pretty lonely. Since his wife died he hasn’t been seen with anyone else, I gather. That must mean he’s in need of some good sex, so I want you to be nice to him. Very, very nice, Bianca. If you know what I mean—and of course you do!’ He laughed uproariously.
She gave him an icy stare. ‘You may think that’s funny, Don, but I don’t! I’m not sleeping with him just to get him to sign that contract!’ Anger made the hair stir on the back of her neck. ‘Sex may be your answer to everything, but it isn’t mine. I have too much self-respect.’
They turned into the Savoy Hotel courtyard and the limousine slowed to a stop in front of the swing doors. The uniformed commissionaire moved forward to open the passenger door for Bianca to descend, so she leashed in her temper again as she got out of the car. She couldn’t have a row with her boss in front of a fascinated audience.
‘You’ve got no sense of humour,’ he murmured, following her through the hotel’s swing doors. ‘Lighten up, sweetheart! And keep smiling. We want to get Hearne’s signature on that contract, remember!’
Matt Hearne and a couple of his executives had already arrived, they were told, and were waiting in the River Room bar, sitting right in front of one of the famous art nouveau mirrors, with their coloured urns of flowers reflecting the light of the great chandeliers in the centre of the room.
‘There’s Hearne,’ Don said, striding forward, past the white piano occupying the centre of the long, wide room.
Bianca kept pace with him, aware of three pairs of eyes fixed on her but looking past them, into the mirror behind them. Her reflection moved to meet her in flowing graceful strides: the smooth blonde hair, the oval face, and then the pinstriped jacket, open to reveal the sexy way her waistcoat fitted her high breasts and slender waist. Across the front of it swung a gold watch-chain, moving with every step her long legs took.
She looked calmer than she felt. Don had made her angry and agitated, she was breathing too quickly, her colour high.
The waiting men rose to greet them. ‘Good to see you again, Matt,’ Don said, holding out his hand to one of them.
‘Hi, Don,’ the other man drawled lightly and derisively. Don was not one of his favourite people, Bianca instantly picked up, but then he wouldn’t be, would he? Matt Hearne had founded his own company which Don was now trying to acquire. They were hardly going to be friends.
Don introduced her a second later. Matt Hearne’s hand swallowed her own. His skin was cool, his grip firm but brief.
Bianca had seen photos of him but they had not prepared her for his physical presence, nor for the instant awareness of him she felt.
He had… She hesitated for the right description, then settled for magnetism. Yes, that was what he had. It glimmered in those bright, blue, mocking eyes. This was a man with charisma as well as sharp intelligence.
This was a moment she always felt deeply—the first seconds of a duel, facing the opponent over their drawn swords.
Sometimes you knew you would easily win. It was going to be a push-over.
But not this man. He was no push-over.
He introduced his colleagues, who shook hands, staring at her in a way that was familiar but still irritating. Why couldn’t men treat a woman as if she was a human being first and a female second? Why did they always look like that, as if they were imagining you naked?
A faint flush deepened on her cheeks. Would they look at each other like that? Of course they wouldn’t.
The formalities over, they all sat down again and a waiter appeared.
‘What will you have to drink, Bianca?’ Don asked, playing the attentive host. He was paying for this meal, the three other men were TTO’s guests, which Don felt gave him the advantage, and he always looked for a chance to get the advantage when he was making a deal. Don was a bridge player, a man with a sharp, quick, clever mind but very little heart.
When Bianca hesitated, Don said, ‘How about champagne? Shall we all have some?’ He glanced at the waiter and nodded. The waiter vanished.
‘How is your wife, Don? I met her a couple of years ago at a party,’ Matt Hearne said in a soft, deliberate voice.
Don looked blank. ‘Did you? I wasn’t there?’
‘No,’ agreed Matt Hearne, his blue eyes drifting over to scan Bianca’s face in a way she resented. ‘You weren’t. Too busy elsewhere, I suppose?’
Bianca stiffened. Was she imagining the pointed tone? What was he hinting at?
‘It was a charity function,’ Matt murmured. ‘Your wife was involved in raising funds for Czech orphans. A very nice lady with a lovely smile.’
Yes, Bianca was sure he was needling Don, quite deliberately, and from Don’s sudden frown he knew it.
Surely there hadn’t been anything between Matt Hearne and Don’s wife?
The waiter returned with an ice bucket and two bottles of champagne. They all watched him set out champagne glasses. He opened one bottle, and filled the glasses.
‘To our closer understanding,’ Don said to Matt Hearne, raising his glass, smiling again, all warmth and friendliness.
Nothing would ever interfere between Don and the making of money. Until he had achieved his deal he could put aside desire, rage, personal hatreds—any and every emotion. He had tunnel vision to an extraordinary degree.
She wondered if Matt Hearne was the same. He had been intensely successful; he and Don must have a lot in common.
‘Oh, I already understand you, Don, don’t worry,’ Matt said, raising his glass, too, in Don’s direction, and again she heard the hidden note of mockery.
Don’s smile was tight, his teeth white and pointed. ‘Good, I’m glad you do. I must say, your company is a little jewel, Matt, and I won’t hide the fact that I want it. And what I want I always get.’
His eyes wandered on to touch Bianca, and she felt the insistence throbbing inside him, and tensed, her hands clenched at her sides.
Sometimes he was positively scary.
It was a difficult occasion from that moment. Oh, the men smiled a great deal, but the hidden weapons each carried showed more and more as the lunch progressed.
How well did they know one another? wondered Bianca, watching them both. Were they older acquaintances than Don had ever told her?
She became very curious but could pick up no real clues to whatever lay in the past.
TTO had bought up over a third of the Hearne stock, which would mean that they inevitably had a considerable impact on future policy and planning in the company. But they had not yet managed to acquire control. Matt Hearne held too many shares and would not sell. His sister controlled a number of shares, too. Rumour had it that she and her brother weren’t speaking. If they had seriously quarrelled and TTO could persuade her to sell they would get control.
The problem was, Ann Hearne had moved to the States a year ago and nobody seemed to know her address. Bianca had tried to find her and failed.
At present, they had a very good private detective over there looking for her. If they could find her in time, and persuade her to sell her shares to them, it would make the take-over much easier.
Watching Matt Hearne as they ate lunch—a game consommé under a pastry case, then turbot stuffed with a pink prawn mousse, and served with a selection of young fresh vegetables—Bianca wondered if his sister looked like him. If she had his colouring and grace Anne Hearne would undoubtedly be lovely.
As if feeling her eyes on his profile Matt turned his head as the waiter whipped their plates away. His blue eyes narrowed, gleamed. Something in that look made her flush and look away, her pulses quickening, which surprised her.
Don was watching them, a secret, satisfied smile curling his full mouth. She gave him an icy look. If he thought she would fall in with his plans for her and Matt Hearne he could think again.
The tense discussions resumed, with stubborn resistance from the Hearne camp. They were going to fight TTO all the way, Bianca realised, but then what had Don expected?
Over coffee and liqueurs Don suddenly said, ‘Clearly we need to have some more meetings. I’m going to Australia in a couple of days, but Bianca will be…’ A deliberate pause, then he added, ‘Available.’
Matt Hearne glanced at her, raising a brow, cool assessment in his eyes.
Biting her lip, she looked down. She couldn’t blame him for reading what he clearly did from the way Don had said that. What else was he to think?
Just what Don had meant him to think, in fact.
‘Who else will I be talking to?’ Matt drawled.
‘Oh, just Bianca,’ said Don softly. ‘The two of you can come to terms more agreeably than a whole bunch of guys fighting it out, don’t you agree?’
Burning with indignation, her eyes lowered because she couldn’t trust herself not to burst out in white-hot fury, which would probably destroy any hope of a deal, Bianca listened to Matt Hearne saying, ‘Then why don’t we start with dinner tomorrow night? If you’re free, Bianca?’
‘She’ll be delighted, won’t you, Bianca?’ Don didn’t let her speak for herself in case she made up some excuse. ‘What time and where?’
‘How about my flat?’ Matt Hearne drawled. ‘We can’t talk seriously in a restaurant—too many ears and eyes. We don’t want the media picking up on our talks. Eight o’clock?’
Don quickly said, ‘Eight o’clock, your flat—that’s in Chelsea, isn’t it? We have the address. Bianca will be there.’
‘I shall look forward to it,’ Matt Hearne said, and Bianca looked up then, meeting his amusement, hating him for the contempt and mockery in that gaze, dying to tell him to get lost but knowing Don would be furious if she did.
Don called for the bill and paid it with his credit card, then got up hastily. ‘Sorry, we have to rush now. Pressure of work, you know how it is! It’s been a pleasure, Matt.’
He took Bianca’s arm in a tight grip and pulled her out of her chair, propelled her away from the table.
‘How could you do that?’ she snapped as they walked back up into the foyer. ‘You practically offered me on a plate! What do you imagine he’s thinking?’
Don chuckled. ‘All you have to do is lead him up the garden path until he signs. That was what you did with young Mistell. I’m not asking you to go to bed with Hearne. Just let him think you might.’
She turned to stare at him, her green eyes glittering like broken glass, her skin burning. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this angry. She had known for a long time that Don was a cynic—why did his latest attempt to manipulate her make her so furious?
She knew very well, of course. She had hated the way Matt Hearne looked at her just now. It hurt to imagine him despising her.
‘I don’t believe I heard that. No, Don, I will not do it. And I did not lead Harry on.’
‘Were you in love with him?’ Don pointedly asked, and she hesitated.
‘I liked him a lot.’
‘But you weren’t in love, were you? I’ve known you a long time, Bianca, I’ve watched you date guys for a while then end it. I’m curious—have you ever been in love?’
‘Mind your own business.’
‘You haven’t, have you?’ He smiled in satisfaction. ‘I don’t believe you’re totally ice-bound. Somewhere under the ice there’s fire, and I want to be the one to reach it.’
She gave him a scathing glance. ‘No chance, Don. No chance at all.’
He laughed. ‘We’ll see. As for Hearne, if you won’t even flirt with him at least be friendly. Courtesy costs nothing, does it? This is a business meeting. You can set the tone; you’re not stupid. And he doesn’t look the type to turn nasty, does he?’
No, she conceded silently. But men were often unpredictable and she was not comfortable with the prospect of having dinner alone with Matt Hearne in his flat. After what Don had said to him he might well think she was part of whatever deal they offered him.
She would ring him tomorrow and suggest they have dinner in a restaurant.
CHAPTER TWO
THE news that the two companies had had lunch together at the Savoy appeared in several morning newspapers, next day, and the press kept the phone lines busy all morning, but no statement was issued by either firm.
Bianca worked with Don for several hours, before he flew to Australia, to tie up loose ends of various projects they had in hand. He went off to lunch with some of the other executives, leaving her at her desk with a pile of paperwork to read through, so when the office lunch trolley came round she bought a yogurt, an apple and some cheese.
Patricia, however, said she had a lunch date with her fiancé, and went out, abandoning the letters she had to type, to Bianca’s irritation. She continued to work, eating her lunch at the same time, which was why when her phone rang she had her mouth full of cheese and apple.
As Patricia wasn’t around she picked it up, murmuring, ‘Mmm?’ between chews.
‘I would like to speak to Bianca Milne.’ She recognised the voice before he added, ‘My name is Matthew Hearne.’
Flushed, and hurriedly swallowing the food, she finally managed to say thickly, ‘This is Bianca Milne. Hello, Mr Hearne.’
‘Matt,’ he said, a smile sounding in his voice. ‘Are you having lunch at your desk?’
Startled and pink, she mumbled, ‘Er…yes, actually.’ Had it been that obvious?
‘Snap. So am I. What are you having?’
‘A Greek yogurt, a Cox’s apple and a piece of Cheddar,’ she said, hoping she didn’t sound as flustered as she felt.
‘That sounds much better than my ham and pickle sandwich. Is your boss there?’
‘I’m sorry, he’s out.’
‘No desk-bound lunch for him, eh? I suppose he’s having a rich lunch somewhere special, with lots of wine. How does he work after that?’
‘Don doesn’t drink much,’ she lied. Not much he didn’t. ‘Do you want him to ring you when he gets back, Mr Hearne?’
‘No, it was you I wanted to talk to. I picked up the impression that you weren’t too keen on the idea of eating at my flat tonight.’
She was silent—how did she answer that politely?
He laughed softly. ‘So why don’t I book dinner in a good restaurant? Any preferences?’
‘No,’ she said with relief. ‘I’ll leave the choice to you.’
‘Okay. I’ll pick you up at seven at your flat. See you then.’
‘My address is…’ she began, her words trailing into silence as she realised he had already hung up. That must mean he already knew her address. Well, she knew his, so why should she be surprised about that? No doubt his people had been very busy checking her and Don out ever since their hit began. It didn’t worry her because she had no secrets to hide; however deep they dug his investigators wouldn’t find out anything they could use against her. Don was another story. Who knew what secrets he had to hide?
He came into her room at five-thirty that day, as charged up as usual, and barked at her. ‘Still here? Go home now and make yourself beautiful for Hearne.’
She leaned back in her chair, her body giving a weary but graceful stretch in the clinging grey jersey dress she wore.
‘I will, soon. What time’s your flight for Sydney tomorrow?’
‘First thing, God help me. Now, keep me informed of how your talks with Hearne go, won’t you?’
‘Of course. Fax or phone?’
‘Phone. Faxes are too risky for this one—other people will read them before I do. I’ll ring you at home in the evening from my hotel, okay? That way we can be fairly sure we aren’t being overheard.’ He turned to go, said over his shoulder, ‘And, Bianca, you won’t wear anything as boring as that dress, will you? I want you to knock Hearne for six and have him putty in your hand by the time I get back.’
She glared after him. ‘I’ll be polite to the man, I don’t promise anything else!’
Bianca arrived home half an hour later having taken a taxi instead of her usual underground train. The office was close to a tube station and so was her home—a spacious flat on the top floor of a large Victorian house in Pimlico, just a street or two away from Pimlico underground station. From the high bay windows of her sitting room she had a view across gardens bright with spring flowers to the river. Her bedroom overlooked the back of the house; a large magnolia tree grew right outside, the delicate pale pink candle-like flowers just below her windowsill.
She opened the window to air the room and a wonderful scent of wallflowers and stocks floated in. Whenever she got home she felt peace descend on her. She had taken a good deal of trouble to give her flat a tranquil feeling—soft, soothing pale colours, landscapes hanging on the walls, a waist-high bookcase running halfway round the sitting room, a good stereo music centre where she played her favourite CDs when she was alone each evening, pretty lamps here and there shedding low light, a spacious, open feel to the rooms. This was where she unwound after the tensions and pressures of the day at work. This was where she could be alone, at ease, untroubled.
Don had never been invited, although he often dropped hints about wanting to see her home. She did not want the atmosphere ruined for her by memories of Don making a pass, or talking in his assertive, ruthless fashion about work.
First, she glanced through the mail waiting for her—a bill, a home shopping catalogue, a postcard. She knew who it was from as soon as she saw the picture on the front. Lake Como was where her father now lived. She read the few sentences in his large, black, sprawling handwriting. He was well and so was Maria, his second wife, and their son, Lorenzo, who had been eight yesterday and sent Bianca his love. The weather was wonderful; he hoped she was well, too. It could have been a card sent by a mere acquaintance.
That was what it was, she thought bitterly—a few words from a virtual stranger. What did she know about her father? From the day he walked out on her and her mother Bianca had only seen him half a dozen times.
Why had he got in touch now? Had something reminded him she existed? Made him feel a little guilty? Her mouth twisted icily. Well, he would soon forget her again. He always did. It would probably be years before she heard from him once more.
She dropped the card on the kitchen table and walked through to the bathroom to take a quick shower, then went to her bedroom, in her short black towelling robe, to put on a black bra and panties, then a matching, filmy black slip. Clicking through the clothes in her wardrobe, she finally picked out a simple black tunic dress, sleeveless, with a scoop neckline, and a hem just above the knee. If Matt Hearne should turn out to have expectations she had no intention of fulfilling it would help if she looked a trifle austere.
With her blonde hair swept up into a French pleat behind her head, tied there with a large black bow set with a diamanté clasp, her face smoothly made up, lips pale pink, lids brushed with green shadow which had a faint glitter to it, her reflection was elegant and cool.
Automatically she added a touch of her favourite French perfume on pulse points—at her wrists, behind her ears, in the hollow of her throat—then started violently as her front doorbell rang and spilled a little perfume on her dress and the carpet.
Groaning, she stoppered the bottle and put it back on the dressing table.
That’s all I need—to smell like a brothel! she thought, brushing her dress and waving her arms about to disperse the strong smell of perfume.
Why did he have to be early? She wasn’t ready to cope with him yet; she needed more time.
Why am I so nervous? she wondered, staring into the mirror and seeing a darkness, an anxiety in her eyes.
She had had so many business dinners and lunches with men, in the past, both alone and with Don. Why was it different this time? Pull yourself together! she told her reflection. He’s just another man. Nothing is different. You can deal with Matt Hearne.
He rang the doorbell again. Bianca dragged a cool mask over her face, took a deep breath, turned and picked up her purse and a warm cashmere wrap, because although it had been a warm spring day it was chillier now, and went to open the door.
She found him leaning casually against the wall outside, long and lean and elegant in tailor-made evening clothes, which made him look even taller, slimmer, his waist clipped by the smooth-fitting waistcoat, those very long legs smoothly encased in dark trousers, a white carnation in his buttonhole.
Bianca’s breath caught in her throat. Why did he have to be so attractive?
‘I was beginning to suspect you’d forgotten I was coming,’ he drawled, those cynical blue eyes flickering all over her, making a strange, hot pulse start to beat inside her body.
What is the matter with me? she angrily asked herself. She must stop behaving like a schoolgirl finding herself alone with a man for the first time in her life.
‘Sorry,’ she said tersely. ‘You’re early. I wasn’t quite ready.’
‘Are you ready now?’ he queried, one brow lifting in teasing query, and she thought, No! I need more time. Go away; come back later. Maybe then I’ll have got myself under control.
But she couldn’t say that because it would betray a weakness and in this fight between them she must never let him imagine he could win. She had to stay in command, give the impression she was invulnerable, he wouldn’t get anywhere with her.
It worried her that she was already having to struggle to keep her cool. Why did this man get under her skin, bother her so much? She had never felt this sort of reaction to anyone else. Oh, she had found men attractive, from time to time, but had always stayed calm, in control, had never felt this disturbing awareness before.
‘Do you want me to come in and wait while you finish getting ready?’ he offered.
‘No!’ she said, far too quickly, and saw amusement glint in his eyes. Crossly pulling the red cashmere wrap around her throat with hands that weren’t quite steady, she said, ‘I’m quite ready now, shall we go?’
She closed her front door; Matt Hearne stood back to allow her to go down the stairs first. In the communal hallway of the apartment block they met one of her neighbours, a young man in jeans and a vivid striped sweater, who gave her a smile, nodding.
‘Hi, Bee.’
‘Hello, Gary,’ she said coldly, stalking past. A medical student at a London teaching hospital, he was the only son of wealthy parents who had spoilt him.
One night soon after he’d arrived he had come back drunk and tried to push his way into her flat. They had had quite a tussle until she managed to thrust him out and lock her door. He had banged for ten minutes before giving up and going downstairs. He had a studio flat at the back of the ground floor where he played heavy metal rock, far too loud, infuriating the other tenants, who would have had him evicted if the whole house had not been owned by one of Gary’s doting aunts.
To do him credit, Gary had come up next day with a bunch of flowers and an apology, but Bianca had kept him at a distance ever since. She did not want a repeat performance of his attempt to get into her flat.
Matt Hearne gave her an amused look, asking softly, ‘An admirer?’
‘A nuisance,’ was all she said, going out of the building.
A sleek white sports car was parked outside the gate, under the street lamp. Bianca eyed it appreciatively, slowing to stop beside it. ‘Is that yours?’
He shot her a sideways glance. ‘Do you like it?’
‘Love it,’ she said, wishing she owned it. It must cost a fortune, which would be right out of her reach. ‘It looks very fast. What can it do?’
‘A hundred and fifty, if I put my foot down.’
‘Please don’t, tonight,’ she said.
He walked round to open the passenger door and held it open while she got into the car, eyeing her long legs with sensual appraisal. Bianca wished she had not worn such a short dress. Sitting down in the low-slung vehicle instantly made her skirt rise. Hurriedly, she smoothed her skirt down to her knees again while Matt Hearne watched, his mouth twitching with mocking enjoyment.
He shut the door at last and came round to get behind the wheel, his lean body gracefully adjusting to the driver’s seat. His long legs almost touched hers, his left arm brushed her elbow, and she hurriedly jerked away. She was intensely conscious of being close to him in a very small space, of the light fragrance of whatever aftershave he was wearing, of his slow, calm breathing, his hands lightly resting on the wheel, the possibility of contact, of touching him.
Her mouth was suddenly dry. She stared at his hands—powerful, elegant, a sprinkle of dark hair on the backs of them, his long fingers shifting to start the car with a roar like a lion.
The silence was making her ears beat with hot blood. As he drove off, fast, she swallowed and asked, ‘Where are we going?’
‘My favourite restaurant, Les Sylphides…it only opened this year but the cooking is marvellous. French provincial, with new twists. I hope you like French food?’
‘I do,’ she said. ‘We often eat it. I’m surprised I’ve never heard of this place. I thought I knew every good restaurant in town.’
‘This isn’t really in town. It’s on the edge of Epping Forest, at Loughton—do you know Essex?’
‘Vaguely. Well, I know where it is, east of the city, but I’ve never actually been over there.’
‘It’s a very special place. Loughton was a village; now it’s a growing suburb but still has a village atmosphere.’
‘Will it take long to get there?’ She had no real idea of the outskirts of London; she rarely left the centre of the city.
‘Not at this time of night. Half an hour or so. And the great point is, we aren’t likely to see anyone who knows either of us so we’ll be able to talk without alerting anybody to what’s going on.’ He laughed curtly. ‘Although, of course, there are whispers already. If you start buying up shares, forcing the price up, the market soon knows what’s afoot. But as neither of our companies have given a statement to the press, so far the rumours are only that—rumours. The longer we can put off an announcement the better. It will only cloud the issue if we have the press on our backs.’
‘I agree. We don’t want press intervention, either.’ Bianca stared out of the car at the faintly dirty, shabby streets through which they were driving. This was a part of London she had never seen before. ‘Where are we now?’ Scraps of torn paper, crumpled drink cans, fastfood boxes blew along the gutters, and there was an air of decay and indifference on all sides.
He gave her an odd look. ‘Haven’t you ever been here before? This is the East End.’
She should have guessed. ‘Not very attractive, is it?’
‘You may not think so. Over the last hundred years it has looked like heaven to the immigrants from Europe, the Jews who fled from Eastern Europe, during the twenties and thirties, and now the place is home to Pakistanis and West Indians, not to mention some streets where you find nothing but Cypriots, both Greek and Turkish, and Africans whose countries are caught up in civil war. There are so many ethnic shops and restaurants here, it is like the world in miniature.’
‘Is Loughton like this?’
‘No, Loughton is way out of town, and much of it has been built since the war.’ He gave her one of his slow, amused smiles, and she couldn’t help noticing his charm, a quality Don really did not share. ‘You obviously aren’t a Londoner.’
‘No, I’m from the West Country…’
‘Whereabouts?’
‘Dorset, actually—Lyme Regis.’
‘Ah, French Lieutenant’s Woman territory.’
‘That’s the place. It’s lovely.’
‘Did you grow up looking for dinosaurs? Aren’t there lots of them in the cliffs at Lyme Bay?’
‘Well, lots of fossils, yes. And we did do expeditions to hunt for fossils, from school.’
‘That would have prepared you for working for Don Heston. He’s a bit of a fossil himself—into moneymaking for shareholders rather than creating jobs for people. The red-in-tooth-and-claw capitalist only cares about making money. A modern boss looks to making his company work for the people he employs, which means both making money and giving staff a good working environment.’
‘Don is a very good boss, Mr Hearne.’
‘Matt.’
She gave him a cool stare. ‘Matt. Don is very go-ahead and modern. I couldn’t ask to work for a better boss. He has encouraged me from the day I joined the firm.’
His long mouth curled mockingly. ‘Yes, I noticed the interest he took in you.’
Coins of red appeared in her cheeks. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Don’t try to tell me his interest is purely philanthropic because I wouldn’t believe you. You’re lovely, and Don Heston wants you.’
‘That’s insulting! But then men like you think women are only good for one thing, don’t you?’
‘Oh, I think women are good for many things,’ he drawled. ‘We can talk about that later. For now, tell me how you got the job with Heston? Did he pick you out of the typing pool? I know I would have done.’
Frozen-faced, she bit out, ‘No, I joined TTO straight from college.’
‘Which one?’
‘I went to the London School of Economics.’
‘Oh, yes, I remember reading that you were at the LSE.’
‘Don recruited me because my tutor was a friend of his and recommended me.’
They were driving through a suburb now, but as she stared out Matt Hearne slowed and queued up at what was clearly a motorway junction.
‘The M11—this is a fast route to Loughton,’ he told her as she looked around in some doubt. Where on earth was he taking her? How much further were they going? Before she could ask he said, ‘Do you know Heston’s wife?’
She gave him a wary look. Was he going to give her a third degree on the subject of Mrs Heston?
‘Not really. I’ve met her once or twice, but she prefers to live in the country, with their children, whereas Don spends the week in town, in his flat, and only goes home at weekends.’
‘From what Sara told me, he goes home very rarely.’
She turned to look at his profile and found it unusually sombre in the bright lightning flashes of the motorway light as they drove very fast along the outside lane. A lock of his light brown hair flopped over his temples; his mouth was straight, his jaw taut, his blue eyes hidden by drooping lids as he stared straight ahead.
‘You know her well?’ She had picked up something yesterday, at lunch. Don had been odd when Matt Hearne mentioned his wife and Bianca’s instincts had prickled with a sense of something not being said.
‘No, I only met her recently, but by a strange coincidence I found out she was at school with my wife.’
So that was it! thought Bianca. If Matt Hearne had loved his wife and still missed her it would have meant something important for him to meet an old school-friend of hers. What irony for Don to target Matt’s firm soon afterwards!
‘Sara Heston’s a very special person.’
Had he seen her again, since that first meeting, or had there only been that one occasion?
‘She deserves better than being married to Heston,’ Matt Hearne murmured, half to himself. ‘But maybe you don’t agree?’
Coldly, Bianca said, ‘I don’t know her, I have no opinion.’ Except that no woman deserved to be married to a selfish bastard like Don, but she would not say that to him.
Don was her boss, nothing more. She preferred to stay out of his private life.
He made no comment on that, slowing down and moving over to leave the motorway. ‘We’re turning off here. It isn’t far now.’
‘I was beginning to wonder if we’d ever get there!’
They were out in the country a moment later, driving between hedges of hawthorn in white flower, a beaten crescent moon rising in the cloudless sky, touching the edge of a forest, giving the dark interior a mysterious gleam, silvering church spires, windows and the roofs of cottages.
‘Magical,’ murmured Bianca, and he gave her one of his slow, charming smiles. Her heart appeared to have developed a disturbing flutter. Or had she swallowed one of the moths that were flying around them as Matt slowed to take another corner?
Before he had completed the turn another car flashed past along the lane they were entering. The driver was going far too fast. Matt had to brake violently to avoid a collision. Bianca was flung forward and almost hit the dashboard; was held only by her seat belt.
‘What an idiot!’ Matt angrily said. ‘Are you okay?’ He moved closer, his face concerned, helping her to sit back again. ‘You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?’
‘No, I’m fine,’ she said huskily, her heart racing with shock. It couldn’t be beating so fast just because this man had touched her?
He looked into her eyes with a slow, sensual gaze that made her pulses flicker and leap.
‘You’re out of breath,’ he murmured, and her mouth went dry.
‘Shock,’ she said hoarsely.
He smiled. ‘I feel the same.’
And neither of them was talking about the near-miss they had just had.
From between their seats a phone began to ring, making her nerves go haywire all over again. After a few seconds Matt slowly leaned down to pick up the receiver.
‘Matt Hearne.’ His voice was curt, breathless.
Bianca couldn’t hear what was being said to him, but she saw his face changing. In the moonlight he suddenly looked pale, or was she imagining that? Was it just moonlight on his skin?
‘How serious is it?’
Another pause while he listened, and he was definitely pale, his features tense.
‘No!’ he abruptly said. ‘Please, don’t do that. I am on my way now; I should be there in about half an hour. Could you stay there until I arrive? Leave her in bed; don’t wake her up.’
He listened again, briefly, then said, ‘Thank you, Mrs Morley. I’ll get there as soon as humanly possible.’
He pushed the phone back down between the seats and started to drive much faster between the high, flowering hedges.
‘Look, I’m sorry, Bianca, I have to cancel dinner. That was a neighbour ringing to tell me my mother has been taken to hospital with appendicitis and will be having an operation at once. But don’t worry; I’ll stop somewhere en route and find you a taxi to take you back to London.’
Quickly she protested, ‘I can get a train. Don’t worry about me. I hope your mother’s operation is successful and she recovers quickly.’
‘So do I,’ he said in heartfelt tones. ‘At the moment, it isn’t just my mother I’m worrying about. My little girl is asleep upstairs in the house. The police wanted to take her off to a foster home for the night. I want to get there fast to stop that happening. She would be petrified. She’s far too young to understand. All she would know was that strangers were taking her away from her home in the middle of the night.’
Bianca could imagine how scared the little girl would be, and why Matt wanted to make sure his child didn’t have such a shock. ‘How old is she?’
‘Three.’ The car roared on along the empty country lanes; he really had his foot down. She watched the needle flickering upwards; he was doing eighty miles an hour.
‘Oh, poor baby!’ Bianca said with sympathy. ‘It would be a nightmare for her, wouldn’t it? Couldn’t your neighbour take care of her?’
He sighed. ‘She’s eighty years old. She couldn’t possibly cope with Lisa. No, I shall have to collect her, take her back to my flat, and in the morning find someone to take care of her for the moment. The problem is, I want to go to the hospital, too, to see my mother, and I can hardly take Lisa with me. And tomorrow’s Saturday; it won’t be easy to find a temporary nanny during the weekend.’
‘What about your sister? You do have a sister, don’t you?’
He gave her a dry look. ‘I imagine you’ve been looking for her in the hope of buying her shares. Yes, I have a sister, but I have no idea where she is at present. She’s probably abroad somewhere.’
‘Haven’t you got a mother-in-law?’
‘I had one, but she died last year. She never recovered from Aileen’s death. She had a heart attack in bed one night and was found dead in the morning. And I have no other relatives to take Lisa, unhappily. Neither my wife nor I came from big families. But I can look after Lisa myself, tonight, although this comes at the worst possible time, with all the workload of the take-over to deal with.’
‘I could look after her tonight,’ offered Bianca before she even knew what she was going to say. Her mouth had opened of its own accord and out the words had popped. Instantly she realised what a stupid offer it had been. What did she know about taking care of small children? She had never had anything to do with children. Hadn’t she got enough to do without taking on such a responsibility?
But it was too late to have second thoughts or doubts. Slowing down, Matt Hearne looked round into her eyes again, smiling.
‘You’re an angel. Thank you. That would be an enormous help.’
What have I done? she thought, staring back at him and smiling stupidly. I must be out of my mind. I’m probably going to regret this.
But ever since she’d heard about Matt Hearne’s wife’s death and the fact that his little girl lived apart from him, with his mother, she had felt a link, a strange sense of kinship, with the child.
CHAPTER THREE
THE lanes grew narrower and more windy, set deep between hedgerows of hawthorn and ivy, holly and elder which rustled in a strong wind that seemed to Bianca to have a salty taste, as if it blew from the sea.
‘Is it much further? Where is your house?’ she asked Matt.
‘Not far from the Thames Estuary.’
‘The river, not the sea,’ she thought aloud.
‘What?’
‘The wind smells of the sea, but obviously it’s the river.’
‘It’s both. This is a very flat coastline full of little rivers; the Crouch, the Blackwater, the Stour all empty into the sea. Beyond the coast there are great mudflats. At low tide you can walk for hours from Shoeburyness before you find any water. I was born here. In the summer I spent every spare minute fishing, catching crabs, swimming, messing about in boats. I want my daughter to have the happy childhood I had. That was what my wife and I planned—’ He broke off; she saw his mouth trembling, his throat moving convulsively as if he was fighting not to cry.
A wave of sympathy filled her. To give him time to recover, she hurriedly said, ‘I had the same sort of childhood, but in the West Country, on the Dorset coast. We spent every fine day on the beach; my mother used to despair of keeping my room tidy. I brought home shells, driftwood, seaweed, flowers, pebbles—and arranged them on every possible surface as if they were precious antiques. There’s nothing like the sea, is there?’
‘Nothing,’ he said in a voice roughened by emotion.
‘And it’s all for free, which is the magic thing about it.’
They slowed to drive through a sleepy village whose shops were all closed. A few teenagers wandered along the street, laughing, before diving into a small eighteenth-century white-painted pub. The pub sign swung to and fro, creaking. It carried a painting of a goat’s head, sinister horns, the slanting, ominous yellow eyes staring down at her. Was it meant to be the Devil?
‘They do great food,’ said Matt. ‘And have the sexiest barmaid in Essex.’
She laughed. ‘You go there often, I suppose?’
He turned his head to grin at her and she saw he was back to normal, his spasm of emotion over. ‘What do you think? Whenever I’m down here I drive over for a drink at The Goat. I ought to come more often. I’m missing out on Lisa’s childhood, seeing so little of her; my mother nags me endlessly about it.’
‘How old is your mother?’ asked Bianca, thinking that Mrs Hearne was very brave, taking on a new baby.
‘Sixty-three.’
‘Doesn’t she find Lisa tiring? Even young mothers find it exhausting to run after three-year-olds.’
He frowned. ‘She’s never complained.’
‘Maybe she didn’t want to worry you.’ She saw his face tighten, his mouth tense, and wished she had kept her mouth shut. ‘Sorry,’ she added hurriedly. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything.’ It wasn’t her business, anyway, was it?
How thoughtless! As if he hadn’t enough to worry about with his mother being rushed off to hospital for an emergency operation. At sixty-three any emergency was likely to have potential dangers. Luckily, an appendectomy was an operation which most surgeons would have frequently performed, but he must be anxious. She could kick herself for saying what she had, implying criticism. She didn’t even know his mother. How did she know whether Mrs Hearne was fit enough to take care of a small child?
‘You think I’ve been selfish?’ he curtly said, and she bit her lip.
‘No, of course not—just…maybe…well, I don’t know your mother; she could be having the time of her life, looking after your little girl. Oh, look, I shouldn’t have said anything—don’t take any notice of me.’
‘Huh,’ he grunted, lines biting into his forehead. ‘Too late to say that. You’ve put the idea into my head now.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she guiltily said.
‘No, you’re right, I have been thoughtless. When my mother’s over this I’ll talk to her. She has said Lisa should start at playschool in the mornings and that might help. Or maybe I should hire a nanny?’
Bianca didn’t risk commenting. She had said more than enough already. She stared out into the dark landscape. The fields on either side were very flat; she saw the occasional cow loom up as they drove past. Bianca thought it dull, compared to the grandeur of the Dorset landscape—the rounded hills, flowing green fields, the ancient hill forts, with their barrows and stone circles, the woods and copses, and the white chalk cliffs along the coast.
They turned a corner and slowed before parking outside a white-painted wooden gate leading into a large garden. By the rising moon Bianca saw the house, half red brick, half timbered, with a black gabled roof of rosy tiles, and a little thicket of trees behind it, to shelter it from the cold, piercing winds blowing in from the estuary and the unseen sea.
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